From the Slush Pile
by metameric1
Summary: Herein lies entombed interesting bits that I really should just delete, but still kinda sorta work. But not really. Hey, you don't have to read it.
1. Chapter 1

_**Note: Standard Disclaimers apply. Daria and related characters are the property of MTV/Viacom or whomever has acquired the intellectual property rights. This is Fanfiction, written for fun only. No money, goods or anything of value have been exchanged.**_

_**From the Slush Pile**_

_**(False start no. 1 **__College Cookery with Jane and Daria: Originally an experimental start for Roomies. I decided that this was too stupid. Even I wouldn't have humored Jane this much.}_

Daria looked in the bag, frowning. "I thought we agreed- no more food roulette."

"I can't eat any more instant ramen, at least for another week."

"Hey, at least it's better than buying these bargain bags of unlabeled canned goods. You realize that this stuff came from Third World countries, right? And that they didn't want it?"

"It's all guaranteed to be people food. No pet food," Jane huffed. "Wait. Did they say that, or was I asking that?"

"Hey, this one still has part of a label on it. It's either something they advertise with this picture of this happy donkey, or it's happy donkey meat."

"You know, don't you think it's kinda creepy how they sometimes use cartoony pictures of the animals that they make into food, and how they show them all happy? I mean, they would be insane or something, since they're about to be eaten. Or encouraging us to eat their brethren."

"That would be like cows with BSE."

"Ewww! Okra, I think," Jane frowned, dumping the contents of a random can into a pan.

"Told you," smirked Daria.

"Shaddup. Hand me that beany looking can."

"I think we should make this more exciting," Daria mused. "We could number the cans and roll dice."

"Okay, looks like giant corn," Jane said, relieved. "Close enough."

"I think that's hominy. Starchy, and not much protein. Do we want to go for three cans?"

"Sure, let's splurge." Jane covered her eyes and rummaged in the bag. "Come on, meat."

"I'm supposed to be a smart girl," Daria deadpanned, "And here I am, pretending I'm stuck in a bomb shelter with you. Without a flashlight."

"Ick. It's some kind of fruit. Looks like eyeballs in syrup."

"Lychee, I think, or rambutan. Pretty good for dessert," Daria shrugged. "But still no protein. Wanna go run over a squirrel?"

"Where did you put that can of donkey meat?"

_(…and that's where I decided to cut my losses. The squirrel still made it into the Roomies opening.)_


	2. Chapter 2

_**From the Slush Pile 2**_

_(Random scene: Daria messes with Helen, making stuff up on the fly. Don't bother with the fact checking…it's all BS.)_

"Mom, I'm sleeping over at Jane's tonight. We're having a bad movie marathon, and after Jane falls asleep I'll be having wild sex with her brother. Don't worry, I have protection as well as a handy assortment of small caliber weapons."

"Okay, dear, have fun."

"Helen, did she say-"

"Jake, she was joking."

"No I wasn't."

"Daria!"

"Okay, okay. Would you feel better if I specifically said I was joking?"

"Yes."

"Okay then, I thought so. See you later."

"Daria!"

"Look, of course I was joking. I don't own any small caliber weapons. I don't have anything smaller than 9 millimeter. I got rid of all the weird stuff because it was getting too hard to find hollow points and lubies in those cute little sizes. Besides, all my suppliers were carrying were those stupid looking banana clips that hold a gazillion rounds. Call me old school, just give me a nice little Glock 17. I can aim for crying out loud. Okay? Bye now."

"Daria! I'm talking about the sex. I don't care about those silly guns!"

"Wait, so sex, which is perfectly natural, isn't okay, but you ARE okay with unregulated contraband firearms that have the Police hopelessly outgunned? Are you mad, woman? Do you know how hard it is for a standard issue police vest to stop a high velocity, Teflon-coated small caliber round, let alone a thoughtless arc of random firepower? Think of the collateral damage! I thought you had your priorities in some semblance of a reasonable-"

"Daria!"

"Okay, okay. I was kidding about waiting for Jane to fall asleep so I could have wild sex with her brother. Really."

"Clarify, please. And no evasion."

"Fine, pay attention. I was kidding about waiting for Jane to fall asleep, I was kidding about having small caliber weapons. And I was absolutely kidding about having wild sex with Trent."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Don't worry, you raised a civilized young woman. I don't do "wild." Okay?"

(set this aside as it ran too long...disruptive, and a little bit WTF?)


	3. Chapter 3

_**From the Slush Pile 3**_

_The beginning to __Angel Blue__._

"Can I hold her?" Quinn asked quietly, brushing a small tear away from the corner of her eye. _Daria looks so beautiful, even though she just went through hell. I've never seen that smile on her face- she's glowing._

_ Diana- oh, you've got your daddy's blue eyes and black hair. What a little beauty you are. You have no idea how lucky you are to have such a mom like my sister. You couldn't have a fiercer lioness protecting you. And your Grandma; God help the first idiot that hurts you. You come from a line of strong women, Diana, sweetie._

_ I wish your daddy could have seen you. At least your mother will be able to see him when she looks into your eyes._

_ But you'll have us, your mommy, Auntie Jane, Auntie Quinn, Grandma Helen. _

She lifted her daughter slightly, so that her sister could slip her hands carefully under her newborn niece. As her weight shifted from her arms to Quinn's, the infant rolled her head instinctively towards her mother, little flashes of sapphire blue as she opened her eyes for a tiny moment before yawning.

That was all it took, a miniscule flicker of a familiar light in the eyes of her daughter. It shot to her core, and she could feel the ragged edges of her heart begin to slowly come back together.

_ He's there, Diana, your dad's spirit is inside you._

* * *

"Young Lady, what were you thinking?"

"I just wanted to look at Daddy's guitar, Mom. I was listening to that song you and Daddy made, and I could hear how much he loved you, and I wanted to see it up close, because Daddy used to play it for you. Sorry, Mommy."

"Oh, Di, I just don't want you to get hurt. You shouldn't climb up on things like that. Listen, when you want to look at it, just ask me or Auntie Jane. You need to be really careful with it, because it's old and really easy to break. Here, I'll show you how to hold it."

Daria lifted the guitar off the wall hanger, and sat on the floor with the little girl. Pulling her into her lap, she held the guitar in front of her daughter. Daria began to play the opening chords for _Angel Blue_.

Diana sat, mesmerized by the sound and the feel of the guitar's vibrating body. Daria watched the side of her daughter's face as the radiant smile reached the corners of her eyes. Her blue eyes flashed below the fringe of glossy black hair, and she opened her mouth and began to sing along with her mother.

Trent had written that song for Daria's birthday, and Diana knew the words by heart.

With their daughter on her lap, that love was passed on to her as well.

* * *

Diana looked out into the crowd, searching for the petite woman in green. Finding her, she flashed her a smile. Daria responded with a finger's touch to her lips, and held her hand up.

She stepped forward to the edge of the stage, the follow spot operator caught by surprise. "This show is dedicated to my mother, who gave everything for me. This is the woman that inspired me to give whatever I chose to do everything I have. I've been the center of her world, and she's been the heart and soul of all that I've managed to accomplish. I've done it all for her and for the man that was my father, who I wish I could have met. This is the first song I learned from them, written by my dad for my mom."

_(I never finished this one because it bummed me out too much.)_


	4. Chapter 4

_**From the Slush Pile 4:**_

_**A Little Bit of Heaven**_

_(This small piece could stand on its own, but I had grander aspirations...I built a ridiculous mess around the central idea of learning to share your life with a partner. It kind of fell apart, probably because it's something you don't really learn but rather mostly make it up as you go along. Turns out I wasn't as good a liar as I thought I was._

_Anyway, I kept this bit and dumped the rest of it._

_This takes place in our Heroine's third of fourth year at college, and with her boyfriend Trent. Just thought I should clarify that, so as not to piss off the hardcore shippers out there.)_

* * *

_ He comes up to me while I'm sitting at my computer, scowling at a recalcitrant essay that I'd managed to bugger to hell and back. He takes my hand and gently pulls it away from the back of my neck; he places his fingers along my shoulders and probes gently, feeling for the tight muscles. His fingertips are scratchy and callused from years of playing guitar, and it's giving me goose bumps. He begins to work at it, and then proceeds to turn me into a drooling idiot._

_ He stops, and walks into the bathroom and draws a hot bath. I disrobe, not just thinking about the soak in the tub, and step up behind him. I feel no embarrassment, just a natural comfort. Intimacy has its own language, it's own terms, and it's not always sexual. Of course they overlap, but I find myself willingly sharing ordinary moments that had previously been synonymous with solitude and privacy. Somehow, there is richness in the common revelation._

_He's on his knees, adding lavender oil to the hot water; I run my fingers through his hair and tip his head back, kissing him upside down. I step around him; he puts his arms behind my thighs and my shoulders and easily lifts me into the tub, lowering me slowly into the hot water._

_ He takes my glasses, and puts them on the windowsill, where I can easily reach them. I close my eyes, arching my back to push my shoulders down into the hot water, and I feel his lips grazing my own._

_ "Just relax, I'll be back."_

_ Right. I sigh, close my eyes, and feel the warmth penetrating; the soft lavender fragrance is lulling me to sleep. The room encloses the sound of the moving water around me, my breathing, the distant sound of traffic, just barely audible beyond the glass window. The light is fading outside; the guy I love is nearby, beyond the door that I can only see as a blurred rectangle._

_Between inhaling and exhaling, whether deserving or not, I realize that I have just been granted another perfect moment in my life._

_ After awhile I open the tub drain and listen as the water flows away, feeling my body emerging into the humid air and responding to gravity as the water supporting me recedes. I stand, and towel myself off._

_ Beyond the door I hear the small sounds of silverware on wood._

_ I step out of the bathroom. He's set the small TV table in front of our bed with two place settings, small glasses of cabernet, and a covered dish. Noting my state of undress, he offers me my robe. I accept it, and drape it over a nearby chair. I take him by the hand, sitting him on the edge of our bed, and I begin to gently pull his shirt off. I let him finish disrobing before we sit down to a simple meal. Dinner is a slow, sensual pleasure, even if the spaghetti scene in__ Lady and the Tramp__ is both messy and unexpectedly erotic when we try it with his leftover homemade lasagna. _

_The dessert, by any definition, is exquisite._


	5. Chapter 5

_**From the Slush Pile 5: **_

_(A curious young woman watches her lover sleeping...)_

_**Dreamer**_

_You're dreaming, and you're laughing._

_When you open your eyes, you have these odd fragments dancing on your tongue. You've described them as being lucid, rippled images just before you break the surface into the waking world. As much as I enjoy hearing about them, I can't help but to wonder where all this wells up from. You definitely have some sort of sleep disorder, in the strictest, most conventional interpretation of the evidence you present._

_ Your sister has seen this for far longer than I have, this disorientation, and links it to your distracted state that I suspect has your consciousness bobbing like a cork just on the surface of sleep. You drowse so easily, slipping below the surface effortlessly. Oblivious, she says, as in constantly not seeing that which is around you. Oblivion, I think, which is quite another thing. Is it an affliction, or a talent?_

_Sometimes, just before you awake, I sense a subtle difference in the way you smell. It's sometimes like mist, or rain, often a strange forest filled with unfamiliar trees. I love waking to the notes of your scent and the way your body feels against my skin. Is it a subtle change in your body chemistry, or have your dislocated a thin film of air, a souvenir for me, of your journey?_

_I like to look at you while you sleep and dream. Sometimes your body mirrors your battles, and your lips move around fragments of word and cry. I wish sometimes I could join you in these worlds that you drift through, carried by phosgene clouds behind lidded eyes. Are you dreaming or hallucinating? I wait patiently to hear of your night's adventure. _

_I wish I could go with you._

_It's the only time I feel a tiny loneliness with you besides me._


	6. Chapter 6

**_From the Slush Pile 6_**

_(This was another experimental opening for another D/T shipper…I've pruned off the steamy bits that would have moved it into an M rating. Needless to say it was dropped because it was way out of character and kind of forced, but it still made me smile. Set post graduation from high school, summertime.)_

**_Feral Daria_**

It was't that late, but the movie had become too stupid to pay attention to and Daria idly began to bury her nose in the sofa cushions. Yawning, she had found a scent that she found oddly pleasurable, and as she enjoyed it her facial expression began to change. She lightly closed her eyes and her mouth opened slightly, in complete relaxation, blissfully dazed.

Jane was curious about this strange look on Daria's face. Obviously her brain had disengaged and she kind of looked like a bear with a tranquilizer dart in its butt. She was rubbing her nose in the sofa cushions, clearly enjoying herself. _What the hell was she doing?_

_Wait, that's where Trent always sits on the sofa. She's picked up on his scent!_ She could see the corners of Daria's mouth begin to curve upwards in a smile. Jane found herself grinning broadly; _oh, this was too good!_ She had caught a glimpse of feral Daria, with her rational, impenetrable defenses down.

She got up slowly and quietly headed to the laundry room, rooting around in the dirty laundry until she found one of Trent's T-shirts. Walking back to the sofa, she held it out directly over Daria's head. _I'm gonna be in so much trouble…_ _is it worth it?_

Studying her expression again, she smirked and dropped the shirt on Daria's head.

Daria yelped and woke up immediately, realizing what she had been caught doing. She was flustered and embarrassed, but she also knew that this situation _was_ pretty funny.

She began snickering, swinging her arms blindly trying to dope-slap her best friend. "Kill you, Ja-" she laughed as she rolled herself off the sofa, winding up on the floor.

The scene was too much for Jane, who started laughing uncontrollably. Daria, having blown any semblance of dignity, pushed Jane over the edge when she peeled the shirt off and scrunched it into a ball and began huffing it. The scene was so out of character for Daria that Jane couldn't control herself, laughing so hard that she wet herself and ran off to the bathroom.

Daria, rolling on the floor laughing, began leaking herself; she instinctively grabbed for something absorbent and pressed it between her legs, getting up to make her way to the upstairs bathroom.

Just then, Trent arrived home, just in time to see the girl he tried not to think so much about scampering up the stairs in her nightshirt, laughing all the way down the hall.

_What was so funny?_ He'd never heard Daria laugh like that.

He had to find out, but first he had to _go._ He made it up the stairs, and put his guitar in his bedroom. The bathroom door was ajar, so he pushed it open.

"_HEY!"_

He found himself face to face with a bright red and very _naked_ Daria.

"Sorry, the door was open and I have to go really bad," Trent explained.

Without a word, she slipped out of the bathroom, pushed him in and shut the door. _Oh, God! _ She could still hear Jane laughing in the bathroom downstairs.

"Trent, where can I find a towel or something to put on?" She asked through the door.

"I think I threw all the towels downstairs in the laundry room," he said. "I think I started the washer this morning. Look, just go in my room and find something. I'll stay in here until you tell me it's okay to come out."

Why were her clothes and one of his shirts on the floor? Wet?

Daria ran into his room and yanked open his dresser drawers. She grabbed one of his boxers and a shirt. _Wait, whose bra was that in his underwear drawer?_ She decided to apologize later and put it on. _Hey, it fits. Wait, it scratches- the tag is still attached. _She dressed quickly, composing herself, and then knocked on the bathroom door.

"Okay, you can come out now."

"Sorry about walking in on you like that. What's with all the laughing?"

"Long story, and seeing as how I've humiliated myself beyond any chance of recovery, I'm sorry I peed on your t-shirt. And I also borrowed your, um, girlfriend's bra that was in your dresser."

"Oh. Well, you can keep it. It's not a girlfriend's, I kind of bought it for you- I mean, I-" Trent stammered. "Damn."

Daria stared at him, eyes as big as saucers. "What did you say?"

"Seriously, I did buy it for you. Not that I would ever had gotten the nerve up to give it to you, of course. Kind of a fantasy, you know?"

"You have a fantasy about _me?_" Daria said quietly. "You're kidding."

"No. Why not? You're a beautiful woman, and the coolest one I know." He looked into her eyes, and smiled. She blushed, but gave him a tiny smile back.

"You didn't find the rest of the outfit, did you?"

"Outfit?" _Oh, this was one weird night._

"A dress. And a pair of shoes. Actually, I started with the dress, and then I realized you probably didn't have a bra that would go with it, and the panties, well, I just liked them. I thought they would look really nice on you. But I never meant to ever actually give them to you, it was just something that I thought about. I mean, I thought about giving you the _dress _and_ shoes _when you graduated, but then I chickened out. And of course, the underwear, well…" She had never seen him quite that shade of red.

"You're telling me all this so I won't be so embarrassed about you seeing me naked."

"Well, yeah, to kind of keep the embarrassment in balance or something."

She gave him a shy smile. "It _would_ be nice to have something other than your boxers to wear."

"Do you want them?"

"They're not like really trashy or anything, are they?"

"You're a real lady, Daria, I wouldn't do anything like that to you."

They slipped into his bedroom and closed the door.


	7. Chapter 7

_**(A/N: Sometimes guys need a little push. This one might just stand on its own, so I never did anything else with it. This is set right after the beginning of Daria's last summer in Lawndale before leaving for Boston. I was thinking that three months of talking and relationship development while Trent recuperates and gets his priorities straight (and getting the roaches out of the kitchen) would be enough to move forward with a credible romance.)**_

_**Try Again, Dude**_

Trent Lane stood front of the stage at the Zon, screaming his long-expired teen angst into a dented and smelly microphone. _Yeah, we got it right tonight_, he thought, the neck of his battered pawn-shop Charvel slick from sweat; even that buzzy fret at the high E wasn't bothering him now. Glancing over at the far corner table, he smiled as he noticed the two familiar heads nodding to the beat. The new stage lights that the club finally put in had shifted the atmosphere for the better, and it made him feel just a little bit more like a real rocker.

Hell, even _Daria _had a smile on her face. He leaned into the turnaround, pushing even more energy into the lick and closed his eyes as the tired old tubes in his crappy Univox amp managed miraculously to hit that right chime and grind. _Oh yeah,_ he grinned, lost in the groove, not noticing the edge of the stage until he stepped off.

He instinctively moved to protect his guitar, not realizing until a split second later that it might be a better idea to protect himself and to hit the ground with something other than his skull. He began to curl, trying to tuck his head forward, but it was space already occupied by the damn guitar. He felt the lower bout hit the ground, and then the impact shot through and drove the horn and strap pin into his chin. As it snapped out of his grip the floor suddenly went vertical, slamming him upside the head.

_Fuck Damn,_ went his brain, as the blood drained out of it onto the beer and puke stained floorboards, and the noise around him thankfully settling down into a dull rushing in his ears. _This is likely not a good thing._

_ Tunnel, light, blah, blah, blah. You know the_ _drill._

* * *

"Trent Lane?"

"Yo." He was about to say something clever, until it occurred to him that sassing St. Peter was probably not the best thing he could do under the circumstances.

St. Peter shot him a look, and went back to the large book in front of him.

"Hmmm." He tilted his head slightly, bringing a curled finger up to his lip that was somewhere under a scraggly, kind of unkempt beard. He could use a manicure, or at least find a nail clipper, Trent thought. After a long while, he looked up. "Interesting. What to do with…you…"

He noted the one lifting eyebrow, his mind racing at what that tell might mean. He quashed that line of thinking, not unlike the uninvited cockroach that had made an ill-timed appearance when he had impulsively prepared that meal for the girl of his dreams. That had gone to hell in a heartbeat, Trent thought ruefully.

Trent snapped his point of focus to the eyes, and regretted that instantly.

He felt the gaze penetrating to his core, and it was turning over memories that had been swept under long forgotten carpets, and buried under heavy nondescript boulders by the side of misty roads. Nothing could be burned or shredded in time to avoid detection and analysis, all of which had already happened by the time he could arrange the electrochemical molecules in his brain in order to form the realization.

This was not good.

Not good at all.

Trent waited as patiently as he could under the circumstances, now following the motion of those ill-manicured fingertips as they idly stroked at the beard. Another slight change in the visage brought Trent's attention to the slowly deepening furrow of the forehead, and then back to that roachlike eyebrow.

"Hang on, kid," Saint Peter growled, reaching into his flowing raiment to retrieve a cellphone that was older than dirt. With a glare from the gatekeeper, Trent's hearing switched off, the sounds of the conversation now muffled and unintelligible.

The book that was up on the podium looked kinda familiar. When he first saw it, it was a big, immense thing, like one of those big reference thesaurus things at the library, but even bigger.

Somehow, it had turned into a dog-eared, spiral bound notebook.

"Dammit, Lane," rumbled a voice. Trent noticed that Saint Peter had finished his call and was about to rip him a new one, by the looks of things. "You're early, and you were supposed to go and do some pretty important stuff for us before packing it in."

"Now explain to me," Saint Peter continued, holding up his lyric book. "If you really felt this way about this young woman, why the hell didn't you _do_ anything about it?"

Trent flushed, embarrassed. _Hey, I was taking it slow, dude. I didn't want to spook her. She was kinda nervous around me._ "Um, well, I made her a peanut butter sandwich?" _Oh, yeah, that sounded kinda lame_. Saint Peter rolled his eyes and tossed the lyric book back to Trent.

"One more chance, Lane. Don't screw this up."

* * *

"_TRENT!"_

Janey was screaming at the top of her lungs.

Slowly, painfully, he managed to open his eyes a tiny, tiny bit. Two pairs of black combat boots were inches away from his face.

A moment later, a black skirt hem appeared, and he felt the cool touch of small, delicate fingers trembling at his neck. They pushed softly into his skin, held for a moment, and then withdrew. He felt fingertips brushing his ear, and lightly running through his hair, as if examining him closely.

Warm droplets splashed on his cheek.

"_Thank you,"_ he heard a soft voice whisper.

"Ow."

"TRENT!" Janey's voice. "You fucking moron! Thank GOD you're not dead!"

"Don't move him, Jane, the EMTs will be here in a minute." Daria's quiet voice, tremulous, barely controlled. She had been crying. "And stop screaming at him, he probably has the mother of all headeaches."

Moments later, he felt himself lifted onto a gurney, strapped to a backboard.

"Are you related, miss?" Trent heard the EMT hesitate, not sure if he should let the girl aboard the ambulance.

"Sister," snapped Jane, pulling herself aboard with the handrail, the other hand pulling Daria.

"Okay," The EMT barked, "But _you_-"

"Let her come, please," croaked Trent, reaching as best he could for her.

"Please, I'll stay out of the way," the smaller girl said firmly.

"Look," the EMT spoke to Trent as he secured the door, "I didn't notice your girlfriend behind me, okay?" He motioned to the driver, and they took off into the night, the lights and the siren sort of giving Trent an idea for a song.


End file.
